


Last Night You Were In My Room (Now My Bedsheets Smell Like You)

by eruditeprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut, these two need to bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10355076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruditeprincess/pseuds/eruditeprincess
Summary: They've only got six months left and frankly, life's too short.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is like my fifth attempt to post this so fingers crossed this goes up.
> 
> Title from Shape Of You - Ed Sheeran.
> 
> These two just need to bang tbh.
> 
> Hope people enjoy this! This was written as I procrastinated my history coursework!

_The club isn’t the best place to find a lover_

_So the bar is where I go_

 

He pushed open the heavy steel door, letting the hubbub of chatter wash over him as the noise inside the bar increased.

_Six months left_ was his only thought as he pushed through to the table he knew Miller was waiting at for him, a tray full of tiny crystalline glasses filled with clear liquid awaiting. Monty had joined Miller already and was sitting beside him, their hands entwined (they often were nowadays, since Bryan had broken up with Miller). He collapsed in the chair opposite the pair, and they stared at him questioningly. He picked up one of the little glasses and knocked it back, letting the alcohol burn his throat. He knocked back another two in quick succession, before wiping his mouth and leaning forward.

“We don’t have long left,” he felt as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders by whispering that. Monty paled considerably, placing his other hand atop Miller’s.

“How much longer?”

“I don’t know. You guys-” he was cut off by a need to clear his throat, “You guys can’t tell anyone else.”

“Who else knows?” Miller asked after a pause, rubbing circles onto Monty’s hand.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m trying to find safe spaces for us to go to but I… I just want us to be okay. I want to do good. I want peace and our people to be okay and I just want us to be okay.”

“That shouldn’t be too much to ask, Bellamy. Have you talked to- Hey, Clarke,” Monty turned towards the newcomer at the table, her blonde curls hanging around her shoulders.

“Would you boys mind if I borrowed Bellamy for a few minutes?” she questioned, her eyes shining brighter than normal, a clear sign she’d been drinking.

“Sure. Just return him in one piece,” Miller winked at the pair as Bellamy got up.

 

“What’d you want, Clarke?” he sighed, and she pouted up at him.

“Relax, Bellamy. I just wanted to give those two some space,” she waved her hand over in the direction of the other two boys, who were softly smiling at each other.

“Why?” he whispered, furrowing his brow, and her hand went up to rest on his shoulder.

“Six months. They shouldn’t regret that time,” _and neither should we_ seemed to be the silent implication, and his hand rested on her waist, stroking slow circles. The distance between them seemed to be smaller than he thought, and her hand moved to rest on his hip. The bar’s sounds seemed to fade away as they stood there in an almost embrace. Her breath fanned over his lips, and they just stayed there for what felt like an eternity, before parting. Her eyes stared up at him as they parted and he could see the sleepless nights reflected in them.

“Come back to my room. You’ll get peace there,” he spoke softly, and she gave him a small smile.

“Sure.”  


The walk back to his room was quiet and she reached out to grasp his hand. He pushed the door open letting her into the small space. She headed towards the desk, overflowing with papers and plans, and she ran her finger along one map.

“Still looking for bunkers?”

“Yeah,” he coughed before continuing, “I got another expedition in two days to find supplies. Raven wants me to find a part that can help the water supply, and Abby wants medicine, and we all need rations, and-” his speech sped up as he began the list of what they needed, before she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Woah, relax, Bellamy. We’re going to get through this, yeah? And I mean, if you can’t find a part or something, that’s okay, isn’t it?” her voice was soft as she moved closer toward him, squeezing his shoulder gently.

“But what if the part is one that’s vital to us surviving?” he questioned, “I want a future for us, for our kids and our people, Clarke! I want us to survive, I want _you_ to survive, goddamn it!”

“Bellamy?”  
“Yeah?” his voice felt raw.

“What do you mean by us? Our people, or the two of us?”

“Can it be both?” he questioned, and she bit her lip, nodding.

“And our kids? What did you mean by that?” she pushed him for an answer, and he stared at his feet. _Shit_ , he thought.

“I… I don’t really know,” he eventually said, and she stroked slow circles over his shoulders.

“If- no, _when_ , we survive, then maybe our kids might not be a bad idea,” she whispered.

“What about us? Now, or the time when we survive?”

“I mean, it depends,” her body moved closer to him and her head rested on his shoulder.

“On?” his breath ruffled the crown of her hair, sending blonde strands dancing across her head.

“Whether or not the feelings are reciprocated, it’s the right time and if we have hope,” she spoke into his shoulder, the skin muffling her response.

“Do you have hope?” he questioned, and she looked up.

“Do you?” she responded, and he gave her a small smile.

“We’re still breathing, aren’t we?”

“I guess so,” his hand dropped to her hip, and she smiled back at him, “Do you think it’ll ever be the right time for us?”

“I don’t know, princess. I guess we’ll just have to try,” she went on her tiptoes as he spoke, her mouth almost level with his, “What about you?”

“No time like the present, I guess,” she murmured, and then his lips were on hers. She kissed the same way she led, dominant and rough, but also somehow soft and with care, her hand travelling up to cup his cheek. She made all the first moves, a refreshing change from his previous relationships, nipping his lip gently to get him to open his mouth. She seemed to overload his senses, her body pressed against his and smell so crisp and invigorating and he loved the way she made him feel. His stomach felt as if it was full of butterflies as their kiss grew deeper and dirtier. His hand was gripping her hip as they continued. Their tongues tangled together and her other hand reached up to grip his hair. When they pulled away, mouths shiny and kiss-swollen and eyes sparkling, she began giggling.

“What?” his smile was huge as he spoke, and she grinned back up at him.

“I just can’t believe we did that,” she responded.

“Do you want to do it again?” he prepositioned her, and she looked down.

“I don’t really think you need to ask.”

That time, they went slower, getting used to the feel of their bodies pressed together in a brand new context, their hands roaming across their waists and backs, drawing small patterns. His hands went under her thighs and she hopped up into his arms, his strength supporting her weight with ease. He crossed the room with her in his arms, and slowly lay her down on the bed, never breaking contact. She rolled them over so he was on the bottom, and slowly pulled away to show him their position, straddling his hips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered, awed by how majestic she looked above him. She bit her lip, anxious, and his hand went up to touch his lips, and then hers as he comprehended what had just occurred. Her eyes tracked the movement and her tongue reached out to lick at the rough pad of his index finger.

“You alright?” her voice was lower than normal and _fuck_ if that wasn’t one of the sexiest things he’d ever heard.

“Yeah, uh, you sure about this?” _about me_ was the unspoken question, and she leaned down.

“Of course. If you’re sure, then we can stop talking,” she kissed the corner of his mouth, “and begin exploring.” He nodded his consent, and she pulled back to yank off her shirt, tossing it off to one side. His hand reached up to touch her stomach, the skin warm, and slowly travelled up to cover her bra-clad breast. Her hands teased at the bottom of his threadbare t-shirt, twisting the grey fabric in her hands and revealing tantalising glimpses of the well-built, tanned skin of his stomach. His hands, however, were sliding around to her back to flick open the clasps holding her old bra together. The material slid effortlessly down her pale arms, and she let go of his shirt to let it fall onto his stomach, the fabric still warm from her body heat. He brushed it off and it landed on the floor with a small _thump_. Clarke’s hands wandered back to the bottom of his t-shirt, and she let her bring it up his torso and pull it off, flinging it unceremoniously to the floor and greedily running her hands along his stomach and abs, feeling the hard ridges of muscle and scar tissue. He hissed as she began kissing his neck, nipping and sucking her way down his chest, chastely kissing his scars. She sucked a bruise into his hip that made him yelp, and toyed with the zipper of his trousers. His hands found the button, but she batted them away, flicking open the button herself and dragging down the zip.

“Is it like that?” his voice seemed to rumble from where she was on his stomach.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes eclipsed by the dark pupil, “I hope you don’t mind that I’m still half dressed.”

“I do, but I mind more that you appear to be teasing me with little intention of following through.”

“Alright, Mr Fancy-Pants, no need to fuss. You’ll get me soon,” with one swift movement, she tugged down his trousers and underwear, and her hot breath was over his cock and _oh shit this woman is amazing_. His hands fisted in her hair as she licked tiny stripes along his dick, staring up at him the entire time. She took him in her hand and he groaned because _fuck that feels good_ , and she began licking the head and twisting her hand as he let out a long, low moan. She only seemed to be spurred on by the noises he made, exquisitely torturing him until he spoke.

“If you… _fuck_ … if you don’t stop, then we might not be able to do much more,” he warned her, and she pulled back, her lips delightfully red. He let out a tiny groan at the breakage of contact between them, until she pulled off her pants and sank down on top of him, her breasts bouncing. Her body was warm above him, and he let her hands run up and down his chest. It didn’t take long of her rocking into him for him to finish, and his fingers went to her clitoris, rubbing until she let out a soft, breathy groan of _Bellamy_ and fell onto the pillows, her hair splaying out. He lifted her back up and she smiled, pressing her lips to his softly.

 

They collapsed back onto the bed, and she snuggled onto his chest, drawing tiny circles around the scars littered on the tanned skin.

“Tell me about your family,” she said unexpectedly, and he winced, so she clarified, “Not your sister. Your mum and dad.”

“My dad died when I was a year old. He met my mum at a Unity Day party, and took an interest in the little factory station woman. My mum told me that his family came from a place called the Philippines, one of the last islands to go because of the bombs. She said he still spoke a language she couldn’t understand, was one of the last in his family to understand it. He worked on Farm Station, was whip-smart, my mum once told me. When he died, it was just mum and I, and we could hardly afford food, despite our rations. When O came along, we were terrified. She loved it when I made the Guard because it meant we could do more, had more of a chance to see O live. I could get extra rations that would go to O and we could live. I think you know the rest of the story.”

“Sounds like he was a good man,” she whispered, her breath skittering across his chest.

“He must’ve been for my mum to marry him.”

“Maybe one day you’ll be spoken about like that,” she whispered.

“A dead man who never saw his son grow up?”

“No,” she said, “a good man. A father. A loving person.”

“Maybe. If we sur-”

“When we survive,” she reminded him, and he chuckled.

“Okay then, _when_ we survive,” she yawned as he spoke, and he played with a few strands of her hair.

“Would you be offended if I fell asleep on you right now?” she asked, and he smiled down at her.

“It would be an honour, princess.”

 

She woke to an empty bed smelling of both of them, and heard the running water in the tiny bathroom adjacent to his ( _their_ ) quarters. He emerged a few moments later, hair glistening with tiny droplets of water and a towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips.

“Hey,” he smiled at her from where she lay on the bed, and she smiled back.

“How did I resist this for so long?” she pondered, and he chuckled.

“Timings,” he walked closer to the bed and reached out his hand. She clasped it in hers, and she pressed a small kiss to his fingers.

“We’re gonna survive this, aren’t we?” she questioned, and he shook his head.

“We’re gonna thrive, princess. You and me.”  
“You and me,” she repeated, and all thoughts of the impending apocalypse were replaced with an overwhelming joy that encompassed her as he pulled her into a soft, chaste kiss.

 

_Your love was handmade for somebody like me_

_I’m in love with the shape of you_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated lovelies!


End file.
